A Kind of Tradition
by annabeth-in-olympus
Summary: A fluffy oneshot of Percabeth on their two-year anniversary.


**Yes it's short, but just fulfilling a request on tumblr, and thought I'd share it here, too. **

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"Doesn't your mom care that you're not home?"

Annabeth looked up at Percy, the wind whipping her hair across her face in the dark. The sleeves of his black sweatshirt that she wore fell over her hands as she pushed him back further into the dark, away from the bonfire.

Percy shook his head, backing up with her toward the surf. "We did a thing a couple days ago. She understood."

Annabeth laced her hands through his big ones, hearing the shrieks of laughter from their friends in the ring of light. Her chest felt big and constricted; the night at Montauk felt wild and potent with feelings and youth and aliveness. _Bigness._ She wrapped her arms around his middle, leaning her forehead on his chest and squeezing her eyes closed.

"Did I tell you happy birthday?" She asked.

"Yeah. A few times, between this morning and now, you did." Percy's hand came up and traced her spine. "Are you okay?"

"Yes. I'm happy." Her words were muffled against his shirt.

He moved his hand up her back and tilted her head back to look at him. His eyes searched her face. "You don't sound happy."

She rested her chin against his chest, looking up. "I'm very, very happy," she murmured. "I'm wonderful."

He traced her lips with a finger, then her jaw, her few freckles that popped in the heat of summer. "Okay, weirdo," he said quietly, one corner of his mouth twitching.

She held his eyes for a long moment. The combined power of the moon, stars, ocean and firelight was making her light up and glow; her deep August tan, her loose sun-bleached hair, her silver hoop earrings—one of those small signs that she wasn't quite the same scrappy middle-schooler he'd first met, but someone older and different.

"You seemed quiet today." He persisted, wanting to be sure.

She shook her head. "I'm always quiet."

He just looked at her. "No."

She grinned, then bit her lip. "Remember two years ago?"

He looked more serious. "I remember a lot of things about two years ago."

"Remember..._this_ night two years ago?"

"Oh, right. When you made me cake and threw yourself at me..." He trailed off as she hit him, laughing, and he grabbed her wrists.

Their faces were suddenly very close together.

"I remember that kiss." Percy said in a very low voice, their faces almost touching, his hands finding her hips, fingers twining through her belt loops. "I remember the things you said to me."

Her breath was becoming shallower as he leaned closer, their noses brushing, his head tilting—

"And I remember how it ended, too."

All at once he'd picked her up, hauling her over his shoulder as he ran straight into the surf, the black tide crashing around them. Her screams and punches died out as the water went over her head, frigid cresting waves stealing her breath.

This time, there was no underwater kiss.

"—kill you!" Annabeth spluttered for breath, grabbing hold of Percy and pummeling every inch of him she could manage, still gasping in shock. It would be much more effective if she wasn't laughing in shock, as well.

"Aw." Percy brushed back a piece of wet hair from her eyes. The traitor was infuriatingly calm and in control of his own breath—he didn't even seem cold. "I thought this was part of a—" He ducked. "—tradition!"

Annabeth spit out a mouthful of water at him. She'd stopped struggling when she realized that she could basically stand up, and also that after submerging her head, she was numb anyway. "You asshole!" She shook her head, trying to maintain her indignation but failing by the second. "You're not even wet!"

"Oh, yeah." Percy glanced down. "There's something I've been meaning to tell you. See, I'm the son—" She shoved him, trying valiantly not to laugh. "—of Poseidon."

And then there was nothing else for it. She hooked her arms around his neck, her legs wrapping around his waist, his hands grabbing her and holding her—and it was pretty much the best second-anniversary kiss of all time.

...

"Are your legs cold?"

"You're an asshole."

"No, I mean it. You can have my...shoes."

"I hate you."

They were sitting on the sand half an hour later, Annabeth having done her best to wring out her clothes and hair. At least she'd gotten hold of his second sweatshirt, and now he had none.

He sat behind her, keeping her warm. She rested her elbows on his knees.

"I've been your girlfriend for two years." She said quietly, after a minute of silence.

His hands tightened around her waist, squeezing slightly. "Mmhmm."

She leaned back so her head was resting in the crook of his neck. "What is it like, for me to be your girlfriend?"

He was quiet for a long minute. One of his thumbs played with the zipper on her sweatshirt. "It's the scariest thing that's ever happened to me." His mouth was right by her ear. "And that's saying something."

She closed her eyes as his lips moved into her hair. "I wouldn't change anything. Not anything that's ever happened to us. Not one piece of who you are."

Her chest hitched. He found her hands and twined their fingers together.

"You're my favorite thing about the world. The best part of it."

He said it plainly, quietly. In a way that only someone who had seen all the things he'd seen and done all the things he'd done could know.

A smile tugged at her lips, one that he couldn't see, and she was glad, because it was just for her.

She sighed in contentment as he moved his hands down her legs to warm them. She waited to see if he was going to ask her the same question, but he didn't, and she was grateful.

She looked out onto the water, at the glittering lights on the black, restless waves.

"I love you," she heard herself say. Even after a year of saying it, it sounded bold. Something stirring and almost cautious.

There was only the sound of the waves as he held her quietly in the dark, paired with the distant noise from their friends who had given up trying to get their attention.

She felt his strong chest against her back, felt his heartbeat, felt the calluses on his hands that could so easily handle a sword, a ship—handle her.

"I love you, too."

Her stomach flipped at his voice, and she dug her fingernails into his legs for just a second, just so he could feel how she felt. He pulled her in tighter, and then she twisted so she was facing him, and then she was pushing backward into the sand dune, and neither of them particularly cared that their friends were close by as her damp hair made a curtain around his face, and his hands took off her sweatshirt, and she laughed at the sudden cold, and then lasting warmth.

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**The best way to talk to me is on tumblr: annabeth-in-olympus. That's where I'll likely respond, but I love and read all reviews here, too. I've written many other Percabeth works, so click my username to check those out if you'd like. **


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